


Truth to Tell

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Assault, Drugs, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-17
Updated: 2007-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House feels he can't trust Wilson to cheat on him, and decides to find the truth by any means necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth to Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://topaz-eyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**topaz_eyes**](http://topaz-eyes.livejournal.com/) and [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/) for their editorial suggestions. Much creative license was taken with the dosages and actions of the drugs mentioned in this story.

_**Houseficlet: Truth to Tell**_  
 **STATUS:** Unpublished.  
 **TITLE:** Truth to Tell  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **PAIRING:** House-Wilson; recently established relationship.  
 **RATING:** A **hard "R"** for mature emotional content.  
 **WARNINGS:** Lots. This is not a death!fic, nor is it about sexual assault. It does contain a seriously disturbed House, committing a morally indefensible act. This is a rough, ugly story about a rough, ugly deed. If you've read my other story _The Price of Silver_ \-- it's as dark as that.  
 **SPOILERS:** Nope. It's just a story.  
 **SUMMARY:** House feels he can't trust Wilson to cheat on him, and decides to find the truth by any means necessary.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** Many thanks to [](http://topaz-eyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**topaz_eyes**](http://topaz-eyes.livejournal.com/) and [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/) for their editorial suggestions. Much creative license was taken with the dosages and actions of the drugs mentioned in this story.  
 **BETA:** Nope.

  
 **Truth to Tell**

Gregory House stood in his dark bedroom and looked at his handiwork -- one securely cuffed and gagged Jimmy Wilson, spread-eagled and bound tightly to his bed.

House was disappointed. After all the time he'd spent in preparation, it had been too easy. While it had been a stroke of luck to pick a Friday night that Jimmy had worked a straight fourteen-hour shift, everything else had fallen into place with a seeming inevitability. Jimmy hadn't tasted the finely-powdered Nembutal in his last beer. He'd shucked his work clothes with surprising abandon, so House had been spared the hassle of undressing him. And finally, Jimmy had fallen into bed in almost the same position he was now -- it had been a cinch to buckle the cuffs and stretch the chains taut.

The gag ... that had been another matter. House had gone back and forth on that, he really had, but in the end he'd decided it was the only way. Jimmy was a silver-tongued devil, he knew that, just as he knew it would only take a few words from that silver tongue for House to nod his head and unlock the restraints.

The whole plan would've gone out the window before it'd even started, and he couldn't have that.

He looked at the clock on the nightstand. Three a.m. Perfect. A drugged sleep for Jimmy, and not enough of it at that. Exhaustion from work. His natural defenses would already be very low, even before House started. There was a faint buzzing in the back of House's head -- it had been there all week -- and he shook it away.

House picked up his battered metal toolbox and climbed onto the bed. "Jimmy. Hey, Jimmy," he called softly.

Jimmy stirred but didn't open his eyes. House sighed and tapped him gently on the cheek. "Wake up," he said. "Got some things to talk about."

This time Jimmy did open his eyes, squinting in the dim light. Still not entirely awake, he rolled his head from side to side, obviously trying to figure out why he couldn't move. In another moment he realized he was gagged, and his eyes widened, looking questioningly at House.

"It's okay, Jimmy," House said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "We just need to talk."

Jimmy made a noise deep in his throat. It sounded like _"okay,"_ to House, and he continued, encouraged.

"I need to trust you, Jimmy," he said. "And I don't know if I can do that." Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "Well, you know your past history! Especially now that we're together I need to know I can trust you -- I need to know you're not cheating on me. That you won't leave me. Because I've had enough of people I love leaving me. I won't have it happen again."

Jimmy shook his head, slowly and emphatically. House interpreted it as _"No, you know I'll never leave you."_

"Not good enough. Remember, Jimmy, you yourself said I can't always tell when you're lying." House flipped open the lid to the toolbox; he saw Jimmy's eyes flick downwards at the sound and widen. "So we're going to have a little talk, and I'm going to ask you a few questions, and this time I'm going to have some chemical reinforcements on my side. I'll give you a small dose of midazolam, then --"

But now Jimmy was shaking his head violently, whining sounds emerging through the gag. He was trying to back up, but of course had nowhere to go. He looked at House, and House knew he'd made a mistake.

He couldn't do this with those eyes watching him. One good look from Jimmy's big, brown, puppy-dog eyes was as good as twenty words from that silver tongue. He considered, for just a moment, about stopping altogether, but the buzz in his head increased just then. _Gone too far to stop now,_ he thought, and swung his legs off the bed.

Jimmy watched him, and House could see the hope in his eyes die away when House retrieved the tie Jimmy had worn yesterday from where it had been draped over a chair back. He started shaking his head again as House approached with it, but House had the reach and leverage and it was a simple matter to wind the length of silk several times around Jimmy's head and knot it at the back.

House seated himself again on the bed and reached into the toolbox. He pulled out the flexible rubber tourniquet and took a deep breath, preparing himself.

Sure enough, the moment Jimmy felt the touch of the thin tubing on his bicep, he started to fight. Writhing and thrashing, he yanked hard at his tethers, trying to break free. His high-pitched whines resembled those of a trapped animal.

House leaned back and watched. He knew the cuffs and chains would hold -- after all, he'd checked them, over and over, once and sometimes twice a day all week. The cuffs were lined with shearling, so there'd be no rope burns; he'd buckled them tight to make sure they wouldn't slip. He'd inspected every link of the chains attached to the shackles, looking for weakness, for poor welding.

Jimmy tried to buck, attempting to kick free of the ankle cuffs. House winced. As often as he'd checked the restraints, he couldn't take the chance now that something might go wrong. Shifting his position on the bed, he put one knee on Jimmy's left shoulder and the other on his left wrist, pinning him down.

Working swiftly, he wound the tourniquet around Jimmy's bicep and swabbed the inside of his elbow with a pre-prepared alcohol pad. He was pleased to see a vein rise almost immediately; all that fighting had had one good result.

He took the syringe he'd filled earlier and positioned it above the vein. "Mosquito bite, Jimmy, mosquito bite." He knew the keywords would come back to Jimmy later when he spotted the tiny pinprick; the midazolam would dampen down the entire experience into a half-remembered bad dream.

Jimmy turned his head away and whimpered as House slipped the needle in.

House loosened the tourniquet and withdrew the needle; grabbing a small pad of gauze, he pressed it to the almost-invisible wound and secured it with white surgical tape. He watched as the strong benzodiazepine derivative took effect quickly, relaxing Jimmy's muscles and rendering him helpless in his bonds. When he was sure Jimmy was fully sedated, House reached forward and gently removed the gag.

He'd administer the thiopental in a moment; it amused him that some still referred to it by its more dramatic name of sodium pentothal, or truth serum. There was no such thing as a real truth serum -- House knew that, but this still might help him get some honest answers from Jimmy.

He laid one hand on the sedated man's chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of breath. Maybe if someone had gelded Jimmy years before, it would've stopped his roaming eye. It was probably too late now.

The buzz in his head seemed to rise and fall with his own breath as House thought of the vistas open before him. He could ask all the questions he wanted now -- not just about whether Jimmy had been cheating on him, but about _everything._ Jimmy's family, his brother, his first love, his last kiss ... the possibilities were endless. Why, the next time he did this --

 _Why a next time?_ a tiny little voice asked. _Why even a **this** time?_

"Because I have to know," House said out loud. The sound of his own voice echoed in the dark room. "I have to be sure."

Of course there'd be a next time, and a time after that. Next time he'd plan for _more_ time, prepare even more; perhaps set up an IV, phone the hospital pharmacy to deliver a catheter kit.

For now, he had plenty of time with the subject. He picked up the second syringe. He had hours. He had all day.

Hell, truth to tell, he had all the time in the world.

  
~ fin

  



End file.
